


Flashes of Another Life

by Iceshard1011



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (none of which any of the characters have), Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Human, Background Orange Side (Sanders Sides), Car Accidents, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders And Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders is So Done, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Needs a Hug, Gen, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Logic | Logan Sanders Is A Good (Boy)Friend, Mentions of various mental illnesses, Precognition, Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iceshard1011/pseuds/Iceshard1011
Summary: "You know when people say your life flashes before your eyes? Well, it doesn’t. You don’t have time."In which anyone who has ever hurt Remus immediately pays for it thanks to his menace of a brother.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Unrequited Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	Flashes of Another Life

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the fic where Roman goes low-key feral.

Remus had always had rotten luck. Wherever he dared to have the audacity to step, utter chaos followed. Whether it was a punch to the nose from an asshole trying to mug him or a woman ranting at an accidental spill of coffee on her new shirt. Whether someone walked away with a soured attitude or broken leg, anyone who came in contact with Remus had their entire day — and sometimes their entire _life_ — ruined, simply for looking at him the wrong way. Remus figured this recurring curse nipping at his heels was the reason he had no connections with his family, the reason no co-workers wanted to be around him, why no one in his classes stuck around long enough to know more than his name.

Oh, also, he was crazy.

If everything aforementioned wasn’t enough to push someone away, announcing that he had a voice that told him _This person talks behind your back_ was a sure-fire way to send anyone scrambling.

At first, Remus thought it was normal. For a thirteen-year-old boy growing and changing and dealing with significantly more stress and grief than other people his age, hearing things like _Your friends are toxic_ and _This teacher sucks_ and _You don’t need school_ didn’t seem so crazy.

Besides, he’d approached his parents exactly once about leaving school, and got his answer swiftly and harshly. He’d never asked again, too distracted with trying to help Mum when she came down with a sick spell for the next week and the way Dad’s car kept breaking down.

The thoughts didn’t cease.

_It’s not wrong to like boys._

_You’re not in love with your girlfriend._

_You could anonymously key your English teacher’s car after school. The bitch deserves it._

Sometimes, Remus did stupid things like listen to the ridiculous thoughts that hummed in the back of his mind.

When he fled from the car, stuck in the middle of congested traffic just before a truck ploughed through the vein of vehicles and landed his father in hospital for days, his mother had slapped him upside the head and grounded him for far longer. Remus still wasn’t entirely sure why. He wondered if she blamed him for not warning them. He wasn’t sure if that was justified, as he hadn’t been thinking much else other than the _GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT_ that had been ringing in his ears.

When the thoughts had mused, seemingly half-heartedly, that his father was going to trip down the flight of stairs if he went without his crutches, Remus’ attempt at a warning had earned him two weeks of dabbing foundation over the bridge of his cheek so no one at school would ask questions.

“Stop acting out!” his mum had screamed once as she pinned him to the wall, her nails digging into his throat and her expression blurry from his stinging eyes. “It won’t change anything!”

His parents’ breaking point was when Remus freaked out the entirety of his chemistry class when his mind _insisted_ that the method the professor was teaching them was going to cause fire to catch on the hair of the girl at the far end of the classroom. He was called into the principal’s office during that class (escaped the smoke alarm going off and the screaming from someone who was going to have an unexpected style change, which was good) and then again at the end of school, with the addition of his parents, neither who were very happy about it.

It was then that he revealed, in a humiliated mumble, about the odd thoughts that continued to prove to have some truth.

The money for a doctor got on his parents’ nerves. He stopped visiting the therapist before any diagnosis could be determined.

Remus did his own research. Schizophrenia, bipolar, DID, OSDD, OCD, every relevant acronym and mental illness under the _sun,_ yet nothing answered all of his questions. There weren’t any odd dreams, multiple voices weren’t clogging his mind, he didn’t feel out of place in his own body, he never saw anything that wasn’t really there.

Nothing explained the odd precognitions the voice gave him, the strange accusatory claims made of the people around Remus who he personally thought he was quite fond of, the baffling times where the voice tried to talk to him like it was any other casual conversation. Even things like how Remus was told not to cross that section of the road, or was mentioned a pretty-looking butterfly behind Remus that he hadn’t even seen yet.

Nothing ticked all the boxes. Nothing gave him all the answers.

Remus was in college, low grades, a shitty apartment, few friends who hated his boyfriend and a boyfriend who hated his few friends, when he reached his own breaking point with himself.

His boyfriend walked into the apartment, expression bored and eyes uninterested. Remus smirked over at him.

“You get my deodorant?” he asked, standing from the couch.

_He didn’t,_ the voice said.

“No,” said Neroli. Remus wasn’t disappointed.

“I guess you’ll have to deal with the consequences of not entertaining me, then,” he said with a sharp grin, gripping Neroli’s shirt and tugging him down for a kiss. His boyfriend responded, suitably fervently. Remus was just getting to the point of reaching for his boyfriend’s belt when the voice growled, quietly, as if it hadn’t meant for Remus to hear, _Cheating bastard._

It startled Remus so badly he yanked back from Neroli like he’d been scalded. He earned a bemused look from his boyfriend.

“Why, uh— why didn’t you drop by the shops?” Remus asked, hating himself for _considering_ listening to the menace inside his head. Neroli shrugged dully, moving into the kitchen. He peered into the fridge.

“Got caught up.”

“With what?” Remus blurted, then screamed at himself for opening his mouth. Neroli shot him a dirty look.

“What, do you expect me to explain every second of my day to you?” he asked irritably.

“Only the fun parts.” Remus shot him another suggestive, toothy grin. It was ignored.

_Don’t listen to it,_ whispered Remus to himself. _Don’t_ listen _to it._

_Ask him where he was on the night you were studying with Logan,_ the voice said in reply. Remus growled and shook his head. The voice persisted; _Ask_.

“You look distracted,” Neroli noted, but he sounded detached.

“Maybe I’m thinking about you under the sheets,” Remus said.

Neroli didn’t entertain him.

“Maybe you’re cheating on me,” said Remus with another grin, waiting for Neroli to give him a reaction. His boyfriend merely glanced over at him with a considering look.

“Actually,” he said, and Remus’ heart dropped against his will, “I’m going to my friend’s place. I made plans with her instead of getting groceries.” He walked past Remus and took his car keys from the entry table.

Remus still remembered the way he had felt nauseous, and the ferocious feeling that had washed over him that somehow felt like the voice sounded when Neroli had said, “By the way, I’m breaking up with you,” without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “And I want you gone from the apartment by the time I come back.”

Remus had found himself with his head in his hands on the couch for the next few hours, going through the motions. He didn’t cry. He hadn’t cried for a long time. He had felt numb, even as the voice had murmured apology after apology.

Eventually, Remus had got himself and his things together and moved from the place, a worn backpack all to show for his possessions. He had ignored the voice ordering him to find somewhere to eat, some shelter to sleep, the demands to call his friends and ask for help.

Remus had spent the night of Christmas Eve shivering on a park bench, bag for a pillow and his own arms as a blanket.

(He couldn’t deny that it was his fault when Neroli got into a car crash on his way back to his apartment that morning.)

Over the following years, with more scenarios such as that, Remus learned that it was best if people knew he was insane. If they knew that, if they knew he heard things, and caused horror everywhere he went, they would stay away. If people stayed away, they saved themselves from a bad time and Remus from having to watch anyone he’d gotten attached to leave.

He was sick of people leaving.

Somehow, amongst this mindset, he hadn’t quite managed to shake a scattered few of his old college friends.

Logan, a nerd with a prime attitude and punchable face and also the least emotionally available person Remus had encountered, was somehow one of Remus’ main sources of support. He had taken up tutoring Remus, against Remus’ better judgement, and he had constantly offered his own house as a place for Remus whenever he needed it. Not that Remus ever accepted any of this, mind you.

The only problem was — Logan was _feisty._ Almost as feisty as Janus, and just as feisty as Roman. His stubbornness matched Remus’ and it was near impossible to shake the guy from an idea once he was fixed on it.

It was kind of endearing.

(It was also _very difficult,_ given Remus’ goal in life had become to stop hurting people he cared about.)

Logan also rambled a whole lot, which Remus liked. It drowned out the voice, still present after all these years. It had quietened considerably, if Remus thought about it. It seemed to have a strange opinion on Logan. Remus ignored it, nonetheless.

This particular afternoon, Remus found that he couldn’t keep ignoring the cursed phenomenon following him.

“Are you paying attention?” Logan asked.

Remus smirked, keeping his eyes on the path in front of him. He kicked the stone again, and it skittered up the pathway then waited like a faithful dog for Remus to catch up. “More or less. Meteorology, right?”

He could tell Logan was looking at him. He probably looked outwardly annoyed, but there would be an amused spark behind the rim of his glances that never escaped Remus. “More or less.”

Remus bobbed his head. “Then yeah, I was listening.”

Logan hummed in agreement but didn’t resume the conversation. They walked in companionable silence along the street path, accompanied merely by the padding of their shoes and the _tap-tap-tap_ of Remus’ stone. The road beside them was quiet.

“Remus?” asked Logan.

“Hm?” Remus said.

_Tap-tap._

“Why don’t you come to my house tonight?” Logan asked. “It is New Year’s Eve. The others will be there. I would like for you to have some company.”

_Oh, I have company,_ grumbled Remus. _And it won’t shut up._

The voice, as if to solely prove him wrong, remained silent. Remus may have felt some indignation on its behalf, however.

_Tap-tap-tap._

“Maybe,” said Remus, which meant _No._

“Please,” Logan said, because he knew.

“Logan,” sighed Remus, “you know how I—”

“Yes,” Logan interjected. “I know it distresses you to have companionship, but truly, it is not such the awful venture that you have convinced yourself it is.”

Remus sighed again, his shoulders sagging. He stopped walking and edged away from Logan, no longer happy to be alone with him. He didn’t know what to say.

He was too busy formulating some semblance of a reply to pay attention to the rising anxiety in the back of his mind and the distantly increasing screeching sound.

By the time the speeding car spun around the corner across the road, he was too slow to react.

_MOVE,_ the voice screamed.

Remus couldn’t.

Logan might have shouted, but he sounded like he’d moved — further away from where he had been standing. Probably to somewhere safe. That was good, at least. Logan had something to offer the world, with that big brain of his.

The car skidded across the road, moving too fast to regain control. It sped forward, wheels rolling along the path, barreling towards the spot Remus was standing.

MOVE, his voice was shrieking. Crying. Begging.

Remus didn’t.

The car, by some logic, didn’t hit Remus.

The car didn’t hit Remus, because it hit _something_ — Remus didn’t see what, and later Logan would agree — first, and flipped like a goddamn pencil being flung across a bored classroom. The hunk of metal flew into the air, the bottom turning to the sky and the roof glinting down at Remus beneath it—

And crashed to the asphalt metres away from where Remus was standing, completely unharmed.

He and Logan stood there, speechless, for a very long time.

The police, once having caught up to the hit-and-run escapee, deemed it an accident on the driver’s behalf. Remus and Logan were dismissed from the scene without being asked any questions. Remus hadn’t spoken a word since it had happened, anyway. Logan had been the one to text their friends and talk to the officers. He had then guided Remus back to his apartment, where the others were already hanging out. They greeted Remus at first but left him alone once being waved away by Logan. He was brought into Logan’s bedroom and set on the bed.

“Now,” Logan said without wasting a beat. “What. Was. That.”

Remus blinked up at him. He worked his jaw. Nothing came out.

_Some expositional bullshit?_ he mentally asked hopefully. The only answer he got was what vaguely felt like the embodiment of a winded wheeze of an exhausted runner. Fantastic help.

“I would like some answers, Remus,” Logan said, and he looked almost angry. “Odd things have happened in your presence before but nothing like this. I watched a car run into _nothing_ and flip as if it had crashed into a row of bollards. You otherwise would have been flattened. You should be _dead,_ or at least in the hospital.” Cool hands cupped Remus’ cheeks, and steel blue eyes bored into him. “I am eternally grateful that that is not what has happened, but I need answers.”

Remus tried to talk but didn’t. Logan pulled back and began to pace.

“We already checked the surrounding area,” he began to mutter. “There was no lip on the pavement, nothing to cause such a graphic result. The car’s wheels aside from being burned from skidding were not damaged. I don’t understand what—”

“I’m cursed,” Remus finally croaked. Logan paused to look at him. “It’s me, I—”

“No,” Logan said. “You have tried to tell me this nonsense before, I will not—”

“It’s _true,”_ Remus said vigorously. “It has happened for _years,_ Logan. _Every_ time something _mildly_ inconveniences me, everything goes to shit. Someone on the other end of the street could look at me the wrong way and suddenly they’re tripping over their untied shoelaces and dropping their groceries into the road. My boss doesn’t give me enough hours and suddenly she’s firing the co-worker I hate and giving me their pay. I don’t understand it, Logan, but you can’t keep denying it.”

“Remus—”

“There’s a voice,” he blurted, because he never had much of a filter. “There’s this voice, too. It’s the same one, but I can’t really _hear_ it, you know? Imagine a single intrusive thought, but it’s always saying different things and some of them aren’t even _bad.”_

Logan now looked concerned. “Remus—”

“It acts like it’s my _friend._ Like we’re old pals looking out of each other. I _hate it,_ Logan! It’s the reason no one wants to be around me! It’s the reason I can’t trust anyone I meet, because either they’re going to find about me and leave or the voice will tell me something about them that I don’t want to know but it’ll end up being _true—”_

_“Remus.”_ Logan was crouched in front of him, his hands squeezing his shoulders. “Please breathe. We will work this out.”

“You can’t,” Remus told him. “I have already gone to every doctor, every psychiatrist. The moment I was free of my parents I went to every damn qualified person in this place, for _years,_ and none of them know what it is.

“I went to a goddamn psychic, Logan.” Remus laughed wetly, shaking his head. “That’s how desperate I was. Dumb, right?”

“You are _not dumb,”_ Logan said, and he said it with so much ferocity that it took Remus a moment to realise the voice had said the same thing, much quieter. “You’re troubled. You’re— you just need to find the right answers.”

“I don’t even know what questions I’m asking, anymore,” Remus said, and hated how broken he sounded. He pressed his forehead to Logan’s chest when he stood. “So I don’t know what answers we’re talking about.”

“We’ll figure out something,” promised Logan. “I promise.”

Remus closed his eyes, so tears wouldn’t get past. They stayed like that until Patton tentatively knocked on the door to ask them if they wanted to count down for the new year.

They did. They counted down, and cheered, and danced and sang and Remus drank until he passed out on the couch, snuggled between Janus and Logan. He didn’t even mind waking up the next morning with a throbbing headache.

Virgil referred Remus to his therapist, a cheery moron with an obsession with pink and cartoons. He seemed less focused on diagnosing Remus and simply talking. He referenced a lot of things Remus didn’t know. The voice seemed to like him — not that Remus cared about its opinions. Remus thought that maybe he liked talking to him.

Somewhere along the line, Remus and Logan started dating. Remus wasn’t sure how it had happened, either. He was fairly sure they had been reading on the carpet, and then the next moment they were pressed against the wall, down each other’s throats, so… Remus wasn’t exactly complaining.

There were bad days, where the voice hadn’t even done anything wrong and yet Remus clawed at his skull. Bad days, where he and Logan fought for real, which scared Remus (he wasn’t easy to scare, either.) At one point, Janus had picked a fight with the wrong group of people and got himself a concussion, which he recovered from fine, but sent Remus to bed with nightmares of blank eyes and bloodied skin for weeks after.

Eventually the dreams stopped, but Remus knew he hadn’t completely recovered when he found himself in the bathroom of an empty apartment, watching white porcelain run red.

_Stop it._ Remus still had little to no clue how so much as a voice could sound as if it was an aggravated wolf pacing in a tiny metal cage. _You need to stop._

_Don’t tell me what to do,_ Remus thought.

_Don’t make me stop you myself._

_Yeah,_ Remus thought with a scoff to himself. _Good luck with that._

_Remus. Please._

Remus shook himself, as if he could physically shake the voice from his head and continued. The voice went quiet.

Time passed, peacefully, blissfully quiet. The sink was stained further.

Remus was almost letting himself relax, but then the door slammed open, somehow, in the middle of the empty apartment, and Logan was standing in the doorway, looking furious, in the empty apartment.

“You said you were fine,” said Logan. Remus felt like a child caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. Crusty, bloody cookies. “You. _Said—”_ Logan crossed the room and gripped Remus’s slick wrist in his— “that you were _fine.”_

“I _am!”_ Remus protested. “I’m just—”

“You are NOT!” Logan roared. Remus flinched back. Logan stilled, then paled. Remus squinted at his far away gaze and wondered in horror why Logan looked as if he was listening to something. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he said quietly, “but you are not okay.”

Remus scowled and looked down at the sink he had ruined.

Logan hummed softly. “I’m going to call your therapist.” Remus whirled on him. “Just to book an earlier appointment, okay? I know you don’t like anyone helping you clean up.”

Remus scowled again. Logan brushed a cool hand across his chin and kissed his cheek. He pulled the medical kit from the cupboard and unpacked the bandages and antiseptic. He instructed Remus he was going to leave the door open. Remus silently got to work cleaning himself up.

Once Logan was out of sight (though Remus could hear him in the kitchen), Remus thought accusatorily, _What did you do?_

The voice said, without an ounce of regret or pride, _I stopped you._

_Stop interfering with my life. Whatever-the-fuck you are._

_Somewhere, you’ve confused ‘protecting’ with ‘interfering.’_

Remus threw the bottle of antiseptic across the room. It smashed against the wall and spilled across the bathtub. “SHUT UP,” he roared.

“Remus?” Logan called.

Get the fuck away from me, Remus growled before Logan hurried into the room.

“What is it?”

Remus shook his head. He couldn’t answer. He never did.

One night, Remus sat on the edge of his bed, staring across the room. The wall was bare. It let him concentrate on what he was thinking. For once, he started talking first.

_You’re not a guardian angel._

_No._

_You’re not a demon, unfortunately._

_Certainly not._

_Then_ what _the hell are you?_

As usual every time Remus asked, the voice did not give him an answer. Remus ground his teeth until his jaw ached.

If there was one thing Remus had been certain of in the duration of his entire life thus far, it was that the voice in his head was nothing but trouble. Irritating, infuriating, no-good trouble. It only ever ruined his relationships, got him into sticky situations, told him things that he didn’t want to hear, even if _it_ seemed to think it would help.

The first time the voice was helpful, Remus also felt like his entire mindset had been flipped.

Remus and Logan had been fighting. Worse than usual. Logan was blinking faster than he normally would. Remus was chewing his lip to bloody tatters. He wasn’t sure who had yelled, or _what_ had been yelled, but suddenly it was silent. Logan and Remus stared at each other. Then Logan inhaled shakily and turned.

Remus’ arm shot out and gripped Logan’s wrist. Logan shot him a dark look, but Remus couldn’t explain himself. His voice had completely abandoned him. He worked his jaw. Logan’s eyebrows drew further together.

_Remus, for the love of the clovers we picked and weaved as children, kiss him dizzy before I send you both through the window in a fit of pent up frustration-driven rage._

Their lips clashed and locked in a startling display of star-danced vision and warm hands linked at the fingers.

Remus forgot about the voice, about the curse. He forgot about every time he had let someone in only to be hurt, every boyfriend who had taken his heart in their hands and clenched their fists. He forgot every time he and Logan had fought; every time Remus had told himself that it was all a mistake. He even forgot about the constant buzz in the back of his head.

For once in Remus’ life, his mind was quiet.

It was that night, with Logan’s body pressed against his side, staring up at the ceiling, that Remus wordlessly reached for the voice in his head. Somehow, even though he felt nothing and heard no voice, it seemed as if his hand had been grasped.

Remus lay there and maybe for the first time, wasn’t entirely sure he hated the voice in his head.

The voice didn’t remain silent after that night, but it did quieten slightly. Remus made no move to communicate with it.

One day, though, when it was storming outside and Remus needed a distraction because his wrists were itching and his eyes were seeing blood every time he blinked, he spoke.

“You picked clovers.”

_We did._

_“You_ did,” Remus corrected, not quite ready to have it spelled out for him.

_Yes,_ said the voice quietly after a moment.

“You’re a voice.”

_I have a voice, yes._

“In my head.”

_Well, technically—_

Remus clenched his fists, frustrated. It seemed to get his point across.

_Yes. I suppose._

For a moment, they were both silent. Remus didn’t outright state what he was thinking, but he wondered if something with connections to his mind could work it out.

_I can try and prove it,_ the voice said dubiously. Remus didn’t reply. Lightning flashed outside, accompanied by a low rumble that ratted the house.

Then, from within the bedroom, a low _creeeeeak._

Remus looked around dully, too apathetic to be disturbed. His eyes widened, however, when he watched the bedside table’s top drawer sliding open.

“That was locked,” he said. He stood up, his heart beginning to lodge itself in his throat. He staggered around the bed towards the drawer. “No, wait— Not even Logan can get in there— Stop it!”

Something, somehow, slipped from the drawer. Remus practically dove for it before it could crack against the floor and shatter irreparably.

“What do you think you’re—” Remus’ voice swallowed itself back into his chest when he made the mistake of looking down at the picture frame. He snarled against his lumpy throat and tore his eyes from the pair of younger, happier, brighter twins printed on paper. He shoved it back in its drawer and slammed it closed. He pulled himself up to lean against it.

The thunder rumbled again. Remus needed something to ground himself.

“You never told me who you were.” His voice cracked.

A pause.

_You never asked,_ the voice said weakly. Remus felt something inside him erupt.

“What sort of _BULLSHIT REASON—”_

There was a knock at the bedroom door. “Rem?” called Janus’ voice.

Remus shook his head. “Just— give me a second. I need to uh—” he laughed nonchalantly, “yell at my thoughts for a bit.”

Janus sounded hesitant when he slowly said, “Okay,” but he didn’t press anything.

Remus listened to his fading footsteps and muffled conversation before whirling around as if he were actually facing someone and hissing venomously, “You are _very lucky_ you’re incorporeal otherwise I’d— I’d—”

_Kill me over again?_ the voice supplied.

Remus broke down. Completely against his will, if he had been able to add his own input between the sobs tearing from his throat.

_I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, bad wording, horrible word choice, I—_

“Why didn’t you SAY ANYTHING?” Remus roared.

_What would you have liked me to say? That apparently one accident is enough for a spirit to form and develop a connection with their only blood relative?_

“Better _that_ than all this— this— mysterious bullshit my entire life!”

_You already thought you were crazy!_ Roman yelled, a little hysterically. _How do you think that would have helped? ‘Oh hello, don’t mind me, just your dead brother’s ghost haunting you through your grief.’_

Remus wasn't sure how he’d never noticed it before — maybe he wasn’t paying enough attention, maybe now that he knew he was actively listening for it, or maybe he had even subconsciously suppressed thoughts like the one he was about to admit to himself — but now if he listened, _really_ listened, he could hear Roman in the voice. The way his voice would get higher when upset, and the baritones of his indignation.

Remus didn’t realise he was sobbing harder until he heard both Logan and Roman’s voices overlapping, concern and worry swimming in his head.

_Please breathe, Remus, you’re working yourself into a panic attack._

_Like you would know anything about that,_ Remus said.

_I would,_ retorted Roman’s voice, without fire.

“What is it, dear?” Logan was asking, his cool hands tracing Remus’ face. “What’s happened?”

Remus looked up at him, tears rolling down his cheeks, and said with a wet laugh, “I’ve worked out what the asshole voice is all about.”

Logan had led Remus into the kitchen and pressed a warm mug into his hands. Remus had absentmindedly wiggled the cup, watching the dark liquid inside ripple. After making sure Remus was recovering, Logan had ducked from the room to talk to Janus.

“Tell me,” Remus growled quietly. He didn’t elaborate. He knew that he was understood. Still, everything was quiet.

_You know when people say your life flashes before your eyes?_

Remus did. He didn’t say as much, but he did.

_Well, it doesn’t. You don’t have time._

Remus tried not to think about how little time there would have been. How scary it could have looked, could have felt. His clasped hands turned white at the knuckles. “What did you think about?”

A sizable pause, but not one without the comforting ever-constant buzzing hum of the voice’s presence.

_You,_ was the final admission, with no preamble. _Logan, too, I think. Our family must have a thing for hot nerds, eh?_

“You had a crush on Logan,” Remus said hollowly.

_Only a little one._

“That’s… That doesn’t help.”

_Sorry._ He sounded genuinely apologetic.

“You’ve been fucking with me for years and you don’t seem to have much to apologise for it,” Remus mused.

_Sorry,_ Roman said again, sounding even more like a remorseful kicked puppy.

Remus sighed long and low. His mug tapped roughly against the table as he shoved it away from him to bury his face in his hands. “I can’t believe any of this.”

He wasn’t sure that thinking the weird phantom warmth was ghosting over his shoulders was going to do anything good for his deteriorating sense of control over his emotions.

_Tell me what to do,_ said Roman. _Please._

Remus squeezed his eyes shut. He swallowed.

“Stay,” was all he could say. “Just. For a while.”

_Unfortunately or not, you’re going to be stuck with me for_ quite _a while._

Remus sniffed.

_Very unfortunate,_ he agreed with a hint of a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is iceshard1011, i don't use it a whole lot but if you hmu i'll reply x


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